"What's the matter now?" asked Bobby. "Where is he?"
"He's having breakfast," said Mudd.
"Well, that's sensible, anyhow. Cheer up, Mudd; why, you look as if you'd swallowed a funeral."
"It's the money," said Mudd. Then he burst out, "He told me to go from the room and come back in a minit. Out I went, and he locked the door. Back I came; there was he standing. 'Mudd,' said he, 'I've got a message for you to take. I want you to take a bunch of flowers to a lady.' Me!"
"Yes?" said Bobby.
"To a lady!"
"'Where's the flowers?' said I, wishing to head him off. 'You're to go and buy them,' said he. 'I have no money,' said I, wishing to head him off. 'Hang money!' said he, and he puts his hand in his pocket and out he brings a hundred-pound note and a ten-pound note. And he had only two pounds ten when I left him. He's got the money in that portmanteau, that I'm sure, and he got me out of the room to get it."
"Evidently," said Bobby.
"'Here's ten pounds,' said he; 'get the best bunch of flowers money can buy and tell the lady I'm coming to see her later on in the day.'